Once & Future (Once & Future #1)(96)

The matronly smile returned. “We ask only for you to return what you’ve taken from us.”

“Taken?” Ari nearly yelled. “What have we taken from you? Other than that monstrosity of a starship.”

“The last Administrator, as wrong as he was, was important to us. You will provide us with the next Administrator.” Her hand waved toward Gwen.

“I would rather die than work for Mercer,” Gwen said, chilling the whole amphitheater.

“You would rather see to the near-instant deaths of fifty planets’ worth of people?” the woman asked, and for the first time, her voice had a no-nonsense edge. “No matter,” she said, softening. “We could not use you. Administrators require a rather special upbringing. We need a child. A baby is even better.”

Ari’s body went numb.

“The heir to the Lionelian and Ketchan throne. Give us the baby, the embryo. We will grow it with such care that it will be stronger, healthier, and smarter than it could ever be in your malnourished womb.”

“This is outrageous,” Merlin hissed.

Terra turned to face him. “It is rather medieval, but Mercer didn’t pick the theme, now, did we?” She smiled with fragility, sadness. It humanized her in astounding and horrible ways. “Give us this physical reminder of your loyalty before the rest of the galaxies, and we will make sure that not a single person dies in the aftermath of your rebellion. One life for so, so many. We will give you the night to accept our offer.”

She disappeared without another word. For all this new Administrator’s differences, she had the same sense of drama.

The long silence in her wake meant a lot of things. That some people would accept this offer. That many more were considering how to accept this offer.

Ari’s voice shook out of her. “If you believe Mercer, that they will agree to regulations and help the needy in this time without profit… if you believe that Gwen handing over her child as payment for my wrath upon the former Administrator is just, leave now.”

Ari didn’t mean to be so clipped, so harsh—but she was about to lose her Ketchan mind, and she did not know what else to do. A dozen people stood. No, it was more than that. Far more than half. It was so many, in fact, that Ari dismissed the rest of them without even taking count. In a very small corner of her consciousness, she understood. They were thinking of this one child—barely the size of a thumb—that could give the entire universe a chance.

In the aftermath of the exodus, Ari stood before her knights, Merlin, and Gwen in the amphitheater.

Gwen’s face was ashy, her eyes vacant. Ari helped her into a seat.

“This is vile,” Jordan whispered.

“I’m going to be sick,” Val added.

Ari searched Merlin’s face. She couldn’t bring herself to turn to Gwen, although she was still gripping Ari’s elbow. “Merlin, what do we do?”

He shook his head—and kept shaking it. “You cannot give that child to your enemy, Ari. It’s the recipe for another Mordred. We cannot allow this.”

“Of course we can’t, but we only have until morning to come up with a plan,” Ari said faintly. “Or we will have a few starving galaxies to answer to…” Ari shook with the ultimatum Mercer had served up in the middle of her first round-table summit. The heir to Lionel and Ketch, the family Gwen had always wanted, the last piece of Kay—and the baby that Ari had already not-so-secretly started to love—in exchange for “peace.”

They all stared at one another, as if that could change anything.

“No plan in the universe is going to fix this one,” Val whispered. Ari violently hated how right he was. There was nothing they could do to keep this child safe when Mercer still held so much sway over every habitable planet.

The speaker in the center of the stone table fizzled and popped. Lam ducked while Jordan drew her sword. There was a sputter of digital noise, and suddenly the group was staring at an object of some sort. Old bone-colored pottery, lined with a gold rim.

“What the hell is that?” Val shouted. “More presents from Mercer?”

Merlin moved to the edge of the round table, leaning in as he inspected.

“It’s coming from Arthur,” Ari said, placing her hand over her chest, breath tight. “And it’s hurting him to show us this. I think he’s in some kind of prison.”

“It looks like a grail,” Jordan said. “The Holy Grail? The one that appeared to Arthur and his knights, igniting their quest for it?” Ari—and several of her friends—shot Jordan a look. “Am I truly the only person here who found out we’re reliving an ancient medieval myth and looked up the story?”

“Ouch,” Lam said.

Merlin waved his hand at Jordan. “But the Grail was wood. This is… Arthur’s chalice.”

As if its name had broken its spell, the image vanished. Ari slumped into the chair beside Gwen, still trying hard to breathe. “What just happened, Merlin? What was that?”

Merlin slumped into the chair beside her, staring into space. “I almost didn’t recognize it. I have so few memories of that time. Of that place.”

“I remember,” Morgana said, voice deep and yet riled. “Arthur’s chalice was a gift from the enchantresses of Avalon during his eighteenth birthday season. It compelled those who drank from it to see the truth, the truth that is hardest to face. Arthur used it to compel obnoxious, young, would-be kings into becoming his knights. It went missing in Arthur’s lifetime. Lost.”